


Time Traveling Loo

by angryessays, ficklefernweh



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, M/M, Parkbarrow is secretly in there now but don't worry, Rating: M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryessays/pseuds/angryessays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficklefernweh/pseuds/ficklefernweh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corporal Thomas Barrow, after being discharged from the army and on his way back home, finds himself transported through time and space where he meets Jimmy Kent in the year 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Didn't Even Wash His Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has an accompanying soundtrack (recommended) that can be found here:  
> http://8tracks.com/angryessays/time-traveling-loo-accompanying-soundtrack-pt-1
> 
> In-text directions for controlling the 8track are as follows:  
> ♫ = skip  
> ║ = pause  
> ► = play

~

"Get out and stretch your legs, boys, you have five minutes!" shouted the driver. Thomas stepped out of the vehicle and tried to acclimate his eyes to the brightness of the sun peeking through the clouds. The ride was quite rough, and they hadn't been let out since eight. His undershirt had ridden up his back, his hair was coming undone, and being in close-quarters with the other soldiers was nearly suffocating him. For the last half hour, the proximity-induced heat had tried its damnedest to convince him to throw himself from the truck. Once he exited the vehicle, Thomas made a beeline for the trees. _Shouldn't have had that second cup_ , he thought.

The road was elevated above the forest floor, and the heavy rain from the past two days had run off and made a swamp for him to walk through. Rather than sink into the mud, Thomas walked until he found solid ground several yards away from the group. The vegetation became surprisingly thick—so much so that he could no longer see the road clearly. He found a good a spot as any, but he'd no sooner undone his trousers when he heard a motor start up. _I can't have been gone that long!_ He rushed the process and hurried back to the road. However, what he found was extremely unfamiliar to him.

What he remembered as being the road was now surrounded on the side nearest him by a low, metal rail. The road itself was now evenly paved and black as pitch with yellow lines running down the middle. The flora was different, too—more brown and dry. Where there had previously been more trees and—most importantly—a truck stopped on the shoulder of the opposite side, there was now a spectacular mountainscape. Thomas stepped over the barrier and walked to the center line, looking up and down for any sign of the other men.

Suddenly, a horrible screeching sound came from behind him. He turned to look just as a—frankly, beautiful—blond, cursing man scrambled out of a bright yellow automobile. Once the initial shock had worn off, he realized the man was in his underclothes. _Am I dreaming?_ He felt light-headed.

The man's shouting finally managed to snap him out of it, and yet Thomas couldn't believe what he was hearing.   


_"Hello?!"_ the man waved a hand in front of Thomas's face. "Are you bloody deaf _and_ blind?! What the fuck d'you think you're doing, standing in the _middle_ of the goddamn road?! You could've killed us _both_! "

Thomas didn't know what to do, much less say. He opened his mouth a bit before closing it again. The man shoved him, not hard, but enough to be jarring. Thomas finally found words: "A- . . . are you _aware_ assault is a _criminal offense_? And of a _wounded soldier_ , no less!" He tried to push down his anxiety about mentioning _that_ _. _

This seemed to startle the man, who backed off a few paces and seemed to reconsider his actions. _As he should_ _._  The stranger look fairly young, a bit younger than Thomas. That still didn't explain why he was running around practically naked, not that Thomas could rightly complain  .  .  .

~

.  .  .  With a slight cock of his head, Jimmy registered the man's familiar accent with a sense of faint unreality. What were the odds that the stranger he had nearly rolled over would be from Jimmy's own country? Not that it was _his_ fault. Was he supposed to receive a psychic warning every time someone wandered into the road like a lamb to the slaughter? Despite the man's actions and accent, it was plain to see there were even stranger forces at play.

He figured the man must be some brand of barmy war reenactor, the sort who slept in tents and churned butter on the weekend. That had to be the case because the "tommy" was dressed from head to foot in some kind of old military uniform. The only skin bared to the sunshine was that of his pale throat and face. Jimmy finally took in the man's ruffled and disoriented appearance, a task made easier once he chose to ignore the vintage brown-green monstrosity clinging to the man's body.

"Are you _high_? " Jimmy asked cautiously.

"I beg your pardon? I should be asking you the same !" the 'soldier' replied as he took a more defensive stance.

"I'm not the one wandering out in the bloody street dressed like a _bloody museum mannequin_ ," Jimmy shot back.

"And you're dressed as what, a stand-in for Jesus Christ himself? "

Jimmy glared at the man and pulled off his tie-dyed tank-top—on which _Ben and Jerry's_ was emblazoned—with a practiced hand, "Depends, I s'pose. What sort of _physique_ does that Christ bloke have? "

The stranger opened and closed his ruby-red mouth in an amusingly fish-like manner. Jimmy swore he saw his eyes flicker down his body.

~

Thomas tried his best not to stare, but he couldn't help taking a quick peek at the young man's newly-bared chest. _Hairless_ _. _ He sighed, trying to make it sound more exasperated than  .  .  .  anything else. "I'm not trying to pick a fight with you. I've found myself lost, is all, and I'd be grateful if you could point me in the right direction." He managed to sound like he was a man in need, but couldn't bring himself to make eye contact like he should have. He looked down at the road. _Dammit._ __

Thinking back to the fact that the stranger was half in the nude, Thomas wondered if he was a bit touched, or intoxicated. _I wouldn't be surprised if he was completely sozzled with the way he drives_ _  .  .  .  and the stained undershirt is suspicious_ _._ _A laundering mishap, perhaps, and he 's wearing it out with not much else. And who are "Ben" and "Jerry"  and why are their names written on the front? . . . _ _Barmy or no, the man's a perfect_ Ganymede _  .  .  . _ _at least that's what Philip would say._ Thomas snuffed out the thought like a candle.

The blonde's face softened somewhat, thankfully. His tan skin appeared warmer than his marble-carved muscles had any right to look—Thomas imagined sliding his hands down the man's taut, defined abdomen.  _A Greek god come to life-_ __

"Where are you going then? Some sort of convention or a battlefield?"

Thomas looked up sharply at the mention of the latter, though it was clear the man meant it in jest. "I was being transferred back to England—to work in a Yorkshire hospital.  They left me behind, and I must have gone off the path, which is how I found myself _here_ ,"  Thomas gestured to the road beneath their feet.

The man kept up his expression of incredulity, "Are you one of those _anime_ blokes? "

"A _what_?"  Thomas raised an eyebrow quizzically, feigning indifference, all the while he wracked his brain trying to think of what Annie May meant. _Probably an insult._ __

"You know, big eyes, mad hair- never mind that. There isn't a Yorkshire anywhere near here. Do you have any idea where you are, mate?" the blond asked, seeming torn between patting Thomas on the head and jumping back into his car to speed off into the sunset.

Thomas did not, in fact, know. _Definitely an insult_ _. _ He chose to ignore it. "I know I _was_ in northwestern France. "

"Well, you're in California now. Los Angeles, California. U.S. of A.," the stranger added measuredly, as if the first pronouncement needed further clarification.

Thomas scoffed at the thought. "That's impossible. I am not in the mood for _jokes_ , sir. I've lost all my belongings, have no means of getting back home- "

The man smirked and pulled the undershirt back over his head, " Right, France .  .  . Baguettes, snails, frogs—I'm just glad you're there and I'm not. Don't think I'd fancy the food. "

Thomas resisted the urge to snap at him; this daft, half-naked man may well be his only way out of this God-forsaken mountain range." . . . I _just_ need directions to the nearest town, if you wouldn't _mind_. "

The man opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by another unrecognizable automobile—this time a low, red one with no top—honking as it swerved around them. The driver yelled and held up one finger as she passed. _Rude, and highly un-ladylike_ _. _  Mr. Blond Bombshell looked around nervously and sighed as he turned toward Thomas once more. "Listen, I can't afford another ticket and I'd like to get home at a reasonable time. Why don't I just give you a ride? It'll be easier," he explained.

"Very well, I suppose. Wouldn't want to keep you from anything." Thomas glanced anxiously at the yellow monstrosity he would soon be forced to contend with.

"Right, well then," he extended a hand semi-reluctantly as both a peace offering and a greeting, "Jimmy Kent, at your service."

Thomas briefly hesitated before shaking the hand offered him, smiling as politely as he could, and replying simply, "Corporal Thomas Barrow." He felt very odd touching a half-naked stranger _in public_ , especially in the form of a _handshake_.  He'd have preferred to keep all the distance he could.   _What a strange new world I've come to._ He made a move toward the driver's side.

"You're not bloody driving in _your_ condition! _Other side_ , man," Jimmy half-teased.

Trying to resist the blush appearing on his cheeks, Thomas quickly retreated to the passenger's side, where he found another unfamiliar obstacle: he didn't know how to get inside the damn thing. There didn't appear to be windows on the vehicle apart from the windscreen, and he wondered if he should try to climb through. _'Jimmy' hadn't gone through that way_ _.  .  . _Thomas looked around for some way to open the door, but by that time his saviour had already gotten in.

Surely taking pity on him, Jimmy leaned over and opened the door from the inside. Thomas composed himself into his cool, vaguely-unimpressed-with-life façade and slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. Giving Thomas a look, Jimmy started up the vehicle.  The action, as far as Thomas could tell, somehow caused music to play.

►

As with everything else he'd seen since he got out of the army's truck, Thomas didn't recognize the tune. Jimmy apparently did, however, as he fumbled around with a small metal device connected to the vehicle's interior, cursing under his breath. As the lyrics came in, Thomas realized why his temporary companion was in such a panic: the song was positively vulgar. He raised a judging eyebrow as he watched Jimmy continue to frantically poke at the metal object , which was emitting light now. Thomas realized the song was some kind of  .  .  .  poetry accompanied by strangely romantic, not-quite ragtime music. It was oddly pleasing on the ears but it definitely didn't belong in  .  .  .  any setting, really. He silently judged Jimmy Kent.

"C'mon ,"  Jimmy mumbled as he pressed a button on the dashboard several times in rapid succession. He groaned in irritation and finally yanked the wire out of the metal device, cutting off the song. 

~

♫ (after 60+ seconds)   _Dreaming by Smallpools_

Jimmy replaced the wire and pressed the button once more, causing a new song to play. Crisis averted, he put the Jeep into gear and continued on the route he had been taking prior to the peculiar incident.

This is what his life had come to. He was now the sort of man who picked up cosplaying hitchhikers. But for some reason, Jimmy found he liked this stranger- " _Thomas Barrow ". Most men would shorten it to "Tom."_Thomas didn’t seem as crazy as he first appeared, but maybe that was only because the man was so handsome.

Jimmy wouldn't have thought twice about playing the first song while blaring down the highway, but the lyrics were too suggestive of the carnal feelings currently stewing beneath his friendly exterior.  _He was only looking at you that way because he was high, or something,_ Jimmy thought as he adjusted his grip on the wheel.

Thomas seemed to be enjoying himself, no longer looking so ruffled. _Might be he just needed to get out of the sun._ __

"You'll need a place to stay, won't you?" Jimmy asked.

"I will," Thomas replied slowly, an odd look coming over his face. "Assuming what you said is true  .  .  .  I doubt I'll be able to return to England anytime soon  .  .  .  You wouldn't happen to know how much passage across the Atlantic is, would you?"

"Why don't you just fly? "

"I'm not _made_ of money! Even if I were, there's no  aeroplane that can make the trip, far as I know. The Germans might have one, but that's no use to me."

" . . . Oh, the Germans have several. As do the Americans, and the English, and the Canadians . . . the list goes on," Jimmy teased.

Just how far would technology have to advance for every country to have an airplane that could fly across the Atlantic? He was beginning to feel like _The Time Traveler_ , though he had yet to spot a Morlock.

Thomas glared at him and changed the subject, "Why are you running around in your drawers?"

Jimmy looked down at himself quickly, checking to make sure his clothes were still on, ". . . I'm not! These're just my clothes! Do you expect me to wear a _tux_ everywhere? _In this heat?_ And you- how are you not having a bloody heat stroke in all that?"

"Warm weather is no excuse for indecency, Mr. Kent."

"Don't call me that," Jimmy grumbled, "We can't all be ready to pop into the countryclub.  I'm dressed perfectly decent."

"Well, _Jimmy_ , it seems we have drastically different definitions of the word."

~

Thomas groaned in his head. He was turning into Carson. The thought was positively nauseating, and on top of that he was surely ruining any chance he might have had with Jimmy, not that he expected to have one. He would be looking like Carson before he knew it, too. _I found a_ _ grey _ _hair on my pillow last night, and I m not even in my thirties yet, for crying out loud!_ His train of thought then shifted to more pertinent matters. _Where is he taking me, anyway? It's not possible that we're actually in California, is it? The cars and the clothes and the_ _  .  .  .  mannerisms are definitely foreign but  .  .  . _ _Did I fall and hit my head?_ He tried to ignore those questions of vanity, mortality, and geographic location as they drove through the mountains. _Won't do any good to get all worked up again. I'm already stressed as it is._ __

It really was quite the view, and most unlike anything he had ever seen. The vegetation, he noted, was definitely very different from what there was in Europe. He'd seen pictures of deserts and gruff, manly cowboys on the covers of westerns and the like, but he always thought everything was sparse and brown and dead-looking in these places; on the contrary, everything here was thriving. Or, at least it appeared to be, based on how little dirt he could see through the shrubbery.

"Don't get your G-string in a twist," Jimmy snorted, breaking Thomas from his thoughts.

♫   _Famous by CharliXCX_

"My _what_? " Thomas narrowed his eyes at him.  He was sure he was only a few years older than this man, but it seemed like every single thing he said was so far removed Thomas couldn't function.

Jimmy frowned. ". . . You're really taking your character seriously, aren't you?"

_ Character? _ "I'm not _acting_. "

"Oh, 'course not," the blond replied mockingly. "I've done a few amateur theatricals in the past and never managed to get into character as much as you have. You must be the real deal."

Thomas gave him a pleading and exasperated look, though he did not intend to. "What do you want me to _do_? "

Jimmy's smile faltered and he turned his focus back onto the road. The tension between them was palpable for a moment.

"So, you're trying to tell me that you came here from France- _you don't know how_ - " he searched for words in the lines on the road ahead.

Thomas decided to just go over all that had happened to him surrounding . . . whatever it was that took place.  He took an exaggeratedly deep breath in preparation. "I was riding in a military truck with six or so other men en route to England after being discharged for this," he held up his gloved left hand, "We stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.  I went to . . . relieve myself and came back to find everything was different. They were gone, the plants had changed, and you almost ran me over- "

"Because you were in the middle of the road."

"I was disoriented, it happens." Thomas hated admitting it. He glared at Jimmy for making him admit it.

"I suppose," Jimmy replied dubiously with one eye on the road and the other on Thomas. "You didn't see a . . . vortex . . . or a black hole? You just went . . . _poof_? "

Thomas winced almost imperceptibly. _I doubt he— He didn't mean it like that, no. Ought to be used to it by now anyway._ __

"None of that; I was just . . . _there_ , and then I _wasn’t_. " He hoped he was being at least moderately coherent.

" . . . Well, if you were really in a war, then show me."

"Show you what?" Thomas's heart skipped a beat.

"Your— " he gestured to Thomas awkwardly, searching for the right words, "Your hand, your _wound_ , or whatever."

He knew that was coming. _It's really all I have to prove any of this_.  ". . . Alright . . ." Hesitantly, Thomas pulled at the fingers of his leather glove. He sighed and finally removed the whole thing—quickly , like pricking a finger. He wordlessly held his hand up for Jimmy to see, deciding any explanation would arouse suspicion.

Jimmy's eyes widened as he looked at Thomas's injury. He stared, a pained look on his face, until the grooves on the edge of the road alerted them to their impending doom.

"Shit!" Jimmy gasped and swerved as Thomas braced himself. They barely just managed to avoid plummeting off the cliff they were driving along.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't get us killed! Anyway, you've seen it now," Thomas scolded as he stuffed his hand back in the glove.

"No harm done, see?" Jimmy nodded toward the road ahead, which the car was  now  rolling down in the correct lane.

Thomas glared at him.

~

_ I should really start wearing a seat belt. _

Crisis averted, Jimmy's mind went back to Thomas and his hand. It wasn't as bad as Jimmy would have imagined, but still a surprise. Not a lot of people he knew were getting shot at around here. _It couldn't be makeup, could it?_ _.  .  . And it really did look real. But then that means  _ he's _ real—or his story is, or- _.  He realized he was making a face and quickly hid it.

"So  .  .  .  You- what war did you fight in?"

"I wasn't really _fighting_ , I was a medic,"  Thomas pointed to the red cross patch on his arm. "We were fighting the Germans and their lot. I don't think they had a proper name for it; people just called it 'The War.'"

♫   _Where Did The Party Go by Fall Out Boy_

"Right. _Um_ - " Jimmy didn't know what to say, and cursed himself for it. He hated awkward situations but he was usually so good at avoiding them, dammit. Of course, he'd never had to try and chat with a time traveler before. "And you're from  .  .  .  Yorkshire, you said?"

"I worked and lived there before the war, yes."

Jimmy simply nodded in response. _Obviously, he isn't keen on making conversation either_ _  .  .  . _ __

~

Thomas suddenly became painfully aware of the silence filling the small space of the car's interior. Normally, he didn't mind silence—mostly because nobody wanted to talk to him—but he found himself interested in finding out more about Jimmy.   _Some things_ more than others. _I could just ask the man_ _  .  .  .  subtly  .  .  . _ __

After a long, uncomfortable pause, Thomas forced himself to speak. "Do you- " he lost his resolve, ". . . Who are Ben and Jerry?"

"Huh?" he looked down at his 'shirt' briefly, "Oh, it's a company. They make ice cream. It's really good; there's a store in the mall I work at. A mall is a big building with a lot of shops inside . . . "

Thomas restrained himself from reminding Jimmy that he was not, in fact, a complete idiot. It definitely would not help him to get snippy every time he didn't know something. He hated not knowing.  Instead, he responded, "I'm not particularly partial to ice cream."

Jimmy scoffed. "Everybody likes _ice cream_!"

"Not me  .  .  .  I'm _not like other men_. " Thomas held his breath and searched for any sign of recognition and/or recoil. To his surprise, Jimmy laughed.

"I could tell that much," he said.

Thomas panicked a bit, though he kept his outward composure as usual. _Can he really?! Was I being obvious?_ He tried to remember if he had done anything particularly _effete_ _. _

"Nobody walks around looking like Teddy Roosevelt, 'specially not in the middle of summer. Us _normal_ people would be dead if we tried! Instead, we eat ice cream and walk around half-starkers, apparently. "

_Thank God._ Thomas was still worried and cautiously hopeful that Jimmy meant something else by it, though. He couldn't think why he'd bother playing it off if they both _knew_ in this situation.   _Perhaps he's still new to this._ He decided to just drop it for now. __

"Do you like this music? I just had it on shuffle but if you wanted to listen to anything in particular  .  .  .  It's kind of a long drive," Jimmy asked, dragging Thomas out of his thoughts.

"Honestly, I hadn't been paying much attention. I don't mind it, but I've never been very interested in music. And this has been completely new to me." _This song doesn't actually make sense , now that I think about it_ _. ' Nuanced,' I suppose would be the word to describe it. _

"That gives me an idea, actually! There's a group that does covers of modern songs in vintage styles that might make you feel more at home, if you want. I have _all_ their songs, " Jimmy gushed.

Thomas shrugged. "Fine by me."

Jimmy picked up the metal thing once more and pressed it with his thumb, holding down some sort of button Thomas didn't see. The music cut off.

║

The device made a sound like a ringing bell, and Jimmy spoke into one of the device's ends, "Play 'Postmodern Jukebox'." The first word was vaguely familiar, but the latter was Greek to him. After a moment the tiny music player seemed to actually _say something_ in reply, but Thomas couldn't make it out.

♫►   _Careless Whisper (feat. Dave Koz) by PMJ_

Then a piano and saxophone began to play, followed by an accompanying female singer. Thomas didn't recognize anything about the song. He wondered what exactly Jimmy meant by 'vintage'. He looked over again at the man in question to find him tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, apparently enjoying himself. Thomas couldn't deny the song _was_ rather enjoyable, even to him. The instruments were familiar at least.

Suddenly, he felt the ever-present craving for a cigarette coming on in full force. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a box of Woodbines and his dented lighter. He lit a cigarette with practiced ease, although he had to protect the burning end from the wind with his uninjured hand. It wasn't an ideal smoking situation, but it was what it was

Jimmy looked over at him momentarily and gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly.

"When were you born?" the blond man asked with a constipated expression.

"1893\. Why do you ask?" Thomas answered—uncharacteristically truthful—as he exhaled a river of smoke.

Jimmy didn't look back at him, "I just wondered, is all. I guess that makes you over a hundred years old."

Thomas scoffed. "Don't be daft, I'm twenty-four."

"Twenty-four going on ninety-four."

Thomas rolled his eyes and went back to concentrating on smoking. In his head, however, his brain was running itself ragged. _Do I look that old? I don't feel it, but I haven't looked in a mirror_ _  .  .  . _ He surreptitiously reached up and ran a hand through his hair, which was falling into his face at this point. It was still there, and didn't feel any different. The mirror on his side of the car told him it was still all black, but he wasn't close enough to see much detail. He pretended to wipe sweat from his face; no wrinkles  .  .  .   _yet_ _ . _  He decided to change the subject.

"Do you smoke?" Thomas asked.

"No—I used to. I've kicked the habit."

He frowned. "What would possess you to do that?" He'd heard of people having a bad reaction to the smoke and such, but if he'd done it long enough to make a habit, that definitely wasn't the case . . .

"I just felt like it," Jimmy replied somewhat snappishly.

Thomas was a bit hurt and caught off guard by Jimmy's sudden saltiness. He resolved to sit in silence as he smoked his cigarette. _What reason could a man have to give up smoking?_ It was a harmless vice after all, and an excellent way to begin a conversation with a _handsome soldier_ or gain an ally in a new environment .  .  .

His mind drifted back to his situation. O'Brien would think he was dead. Men did not simply _disappear_ after getting their blighty tickets. Would anyone look for him? Would a search party be sent out? Would Thomas Barrow be declared 'missing'? _I am missing. No one could find me if they tried._ The thought was as sobering as it was  .  .  .  exciting. _A new beginning. No Carson, no Bates, no marching orders, no need to return to that life._ Thomas allowed himself a small smile in celebration. He hadn't planned on going back after the war if he could help it, but with his luck he'd have found himself there in the end.

He noticed Jimmy was gripping the wheel with both hands, as opposed to steering with one hand on top and the other out the window as he had done the rest of the drive. Thomas couldn't think what could have possibly gotten him so worked up. He decided to leave it be, and flicked what was left of his cigarette into the wind. _I don't have room to talk; I could run through the rest of the pack in ten minutes for all my stress. And there's really no point in a two-minute smoke, is there?_ He returned his attention to the scenery and tried in vain to relax.

 

~*~

♫   _Blank Space (feat. Ariana Savalas) by PMJ_

Once the pair had finally reached civilization, Thomas could scarcely believe how different everything was. The buildings all looked like they belonged to wealthy elite, but there were so many it didn't seem possible.  Parked outside several of them were shiny, streamlined vehicles. He realized he had probably seen more cars in the past five minutes than he had seen his whole life.

They started to pass pedestrians after a few moments. Thomas was appalled— as much as he could be in his state, at least. There were women walking around in skin-tight trousers and knickers that came up to their rears, tops that didn't even cover their stomachs, and some of them appeared to be shoeless.  A few of the men he saw were without shirts, which Thomas definitely didn't mind as much. Until they passed a similarly-dressed man that seemed to be a cross between old Mr. Molesley and Bates. Thomas resolved to look straight ahead after that.

"Does everyone wear their undergarments in public here?"

Jimmy replied, slightly irritated, "I _told_ you, it's not underwear. "

"Even so, it's indecent for young women to be-"

He snorted, "You're like an old man. Don't go to the beach, you'll keel over."

Whatever their differing sensibilities, he certainly didn't want Jimmy to think he was a fuddy-duddy. He supposed it only made sense that clothes would become more and more _risqué_ as time moved forward; although, the style presented before him was almost too much. Thomas decided to change the subject to something less Carson- _esque,_ lest he be mistaken for some sort of antediluvian. "How much further?" he asked.

"The freeway's comin' up here, so we're almost there." Jimmy nodded toward an intersection up ahead.

Thomas nodded in feigned understanding.

They merged onto a road with several lanes, and the cars were moving by at the speed of lightning—faster than anything he'd ever seen. The wind whipped wildly through their hair; Thomas's was surely beyond help at this point.

There were as many different colors as he could imagine, though most of them were white or silver. Jimmy did not seem at all perturbed by all the cars coming their way and riding at high speeds beside them. Thomas thought he must look like a fool whipping his head around trying to look at everything at once.  He assumed this was the so-called "freeway."

Jimmy sped up and pulled around a vehicle the size of a train car, and Thomas noticed there were a lot of them in a row with smaller trucks and cars interspersed between them. He tried not to panic as Jimmy weaved through the lanes at what Thomas perceived as break-neck speeds.

"You're not going to be sick, are you?" Jimmy asked with a pained expression.

"Of course not," Thomas replied, affecting a picture of serenity as best he could.

His stomach felt a bit unsettled, but he certainly was not about to vomit all over everything in front of Jimmy and the other motorists. Thomas looked in the mirror again and saw his face was sporting green undertones. He refused to vomit. Not today. Not ever. He had been in far worse situations and never once became sick—although there were a few things that had made his stomach lurch—a few wet, gaping, crimson craters gleaming against clammy skin, unidentifiable meaty viscera, and things that ought to be _inside_ on the _outside_  .  .  .

Thomas felt bile rise in his throat as his lips formed a seal around his cigarette—he was up to his third now, only just managing to make them last.

Jimmy kept sending him manic looks.

Thomas tried to focus on pleasant things like soap, dry socks, and big cocks. He thought of Jimmy's muscled abdomen and of Philip 's perfect arse. He breathed measuredly and swallowed several times, causing the waves of nausea to subside for the time being.

_ Thank God. _

~

"If you're about to park a custard in here, let me know. I'll find somewhere to stop,"  Jimmy offered. Thomas was just beginning to look less verdant.

"I'm fine," he assured.

Jimmy was not convinced. Now that the fear of the soldier puking all over his car was gone, he wished he could offer Thomas a glass of water or a nice bath. No wonder the man was so sweaty, what with all the layers he was wearing.

"Maybe you would be more comfortable if you took off your coat," he suggested _altruistically_ _. _

"I am perfectly comfortable fully clothed, thank you."

"I'm burning up just looking at you in all that. You've got to be on fire," Jimmy's eyes flicked briefly to the cigarette burning down in Thomas' hand.

_ What the bloody hell are you saying that for? _

"Well, I'm not."

"So for _your_ people, going coatless is a bit like being in the buff then? " he joked.

"Why, yes, Jimmy Kent. I'd blush _awfully_ under your discerning stare. "

_ Maybe he's finally thawing out some. _

"Well, don't cause yourself any embarrassment on my account. It's a bit early in our relationship for nudity," Jimmy chuckled.

Their eyes met with a gleam of good humor and mutual appreciation. Jimmy regretted that he had to keep at least one eye on the road. Time inside his Jeep slowed to a crawl.  In that moment, Jimmy's world was a strange and magical place where time travel was real and handsome strangers appeared in front of him out of the ether. By all rights, there wasn't any rational reasons for him to feel so-

"You're very sure of yourself," Thomas replied.

♫   _Like A Prayer by PMJ_

Suddenly Jimmy came back to himself, and his Jeep seemed impossibly small and shabby. The smell of Thomas' smoke was equal parts enticing and repugnant. The strange spell was broken. He was shocked at how he had said such things  .  .  .   _to another man_. Jimmy waded through the moment in the flash of an instant and felt horribly unsettled

_ Fuck. _

"I- uh  .  .  .  So  .  .  .  is that too much wind on you?"

"I suppose it is a bit strong," Thomas answered, all trace of his prior good spirits apparently out like a light.

"You can close your window if you like."

"I-er, how would I go about doing that?"

"Just roll that crank under the window."

Thomas flicked his cigarette out onto the road—luckily missing the other cars—and attempted to turn the crank the wrong way before finally getting it to go in the right direction. Jimmy forced himself to keep his eyes on the road, a task of which he needed a frequent reminder. The mundane action Thomas performed looked like something that belonged in the filthiest gay porn imaginable. Not that Jimmy knew what sort of thing was involved in gay porn beyond the vaguest of suppositions, of course.

"Hey, um, also, don't just litter like that in the future, unless you want to be murdered by a roving band of vegetarians."   


Thomas looked up from the crank and gave Jimmy an incredulous look, complete with his trademark eyebrow raise.

"I'm kidding of course."  _Not by much._ " They'll just be cross. And if a policeman sees you, you'll get slapped with a big fine," Jimmy explained. "I'm not going to pay that, and clearly you won't be able to yourself."

~

Thomas caught himself before he could get defensive. _Not like he's wrong; I have no money._  "What am I supposed to do, then? Hold my cigarette forever? I don't see an ashtray in here."

"We're almost home, Smokey the Bear," Jimmy winced at his own joke. "There's ashtrays in the smoking area. Speaking of, you can't smoke in the building."

"Why not?"

Jimmy shrugged. "They don't want smoke damage. Plus it's illegal to smoke in most public places now on account of the secondhand smoke."

"Secondhand?"

"Yeah. The smoke you breathe out is just as bad as the smoke you breathe in. _Cancerous fumes_ and such. "

Thomas had always been told smoking was healthy. _Medical science is always advancing, I suppose._

"Is that why you quit?"

Jimmy stiffened, "Something like that. I don't wanna talk about it."

Thomas nodded solemnly. _Dammit._ _Should've known better than to bring it up again._ __

Jimmy maneuvered the car lane by lane toward the right side of the road. Thomas braced himself, expecting a collision at any moment. It seemed to him they were practically touching the other cars and the high speeds didn't help anything. Fortunately, they made it safely off on a smaller road where Jimmy slowed down significantly. It led them back into an area with houses and Thomas was able to see more people, thankfully at least _somewhat_ more conservatively dressed this time. Judging by the size of the houses, they were his type. He wondered if they worked for the owners of the big houses he'd seen earlier.

♫ _Maps (feat. Morgan James) by PMJ_

He noticed there were tall trees lining the road that looked like something out of _Cleopatra._ These soon disappeared, however, as they made their way through the neighborhood. On a road lined with sprawling, shady trees, Jimmy spoke up.

"This is our street."

Thomas started paying more attention to his surroundings. The houses here weren't particularly fancy, but they weren't hovels either. Several had perfectly trimmed hedges and well-kept lawns. _They must be wealthy enough to have gardeners, at least._ Thomas's excitement was rising with the prospect of being the guest of a handsome _and_ rich man. _I don't even have to pretend to valet for him._

He was practically vibrating as they pulled into a driveway next to a rather large building with lots of windows and doors.

"Home sweet home," Jimmy announced with a smile.

Thomas could hardly believe his eyes, or his luck. "You own _all this_? " he asked.

Jimmy laughed. "Hardly. I rent a unit out of it.  One bed, one bath, a living room, laundry, and kitchen area."

Thomas knew it was too good to be true. His excitement fizzled out quickly as he looked at the amount of space between each door. It at least sounded better than his room at Downton, and was miles ahead of anything he'd seen at the front. With that in mind, he decided it couldn't be too bad. _If I play my cards right, maybe I can finally share a bed_ _  .  .  . _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know what happened to the spacing but I tried to fix most of it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> -angryessays


	2. Accommodations of the Modern Loo: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas meets a dog, takes a shower, and learns new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No soundtrack for this one but it will return :)

Jimmy shut off the car. "You need help getting out or have you figured out how to open the door?" he teased.

Thomas glared at him and in a stroke of luck not even he could explain, opened the door on the first try. "I can manage, thank you," he gloated as he slid awkwardly out and onto the pavement below. As he closed the door behind him, he asked, "Which one's yours?" He heard a thunking noise from the car once Jimmy was out of it.

"429," Jimmy answered, now walking toward the far end of the building, swinging his keys on a foot of what appeared to be colorful ribbon as he went. Thomas followed quickly behind.

 

~*~

 

Not so long ago, Jimmy would have been opposed to any floral aroma in his apartment. In fact, he had once ordered ice, leather, and armpit stain scented Mandles—while heavily intoxicated, of course. However, as of late, he figured life was too short to smell things he didn't like. So, Jimmy kept sweet smelling lavender sachets inside his pillow cases, and lavender incense was always burning when he relaxed in his apartment.

He opened the door, and they were greeted to a lavender paradise. Jimmy hoped the smell would rub off on the other man a little. He had detected a faint scent of body odor as he brushed past Thomas, as well as a _lot_ of cigarette smoke. He found neither to be entirely _unpleasant_ , but he would prefer to not get a semi and crave a smoke every time he sat on his sofa.

~

Thomas was a bit taken aback by all the sudden scents wafting into the hall and onto him—or, rather, _one_ extremely strong scent. He glanced at Jimmy, wondering briefly if there _was_ a woman living here despite the blond's apparent lack of practical skills: a woman who spent her days arranging lavender bouquets. _A woman who_ also _doesn't know how to properly wash clothes . . ._

Despite the heat outside, Jimmy's apartment was comfortably and inexplicably cool.

A dog barked and trotted up to them. It immediately began scratching on Jimmy's legs and jumping to near waist height—its small, short legs possessing much more power than they appeared to. As soon as it caught sight of Thomas, however, it leapt back, hackles raised, and began sounding the alarm. Jimmy scooped up the dog and attempted to soothe it with petting and shushing.

"Hope you don't mind dogs," Jimmy said once the barking had ceased.

"I don't dislike them." Thomas smiled briefly at the little thing to prove it. _Smaller than I would have expected . . ._ "Is it your girl's?" It _did_ look like the kind a woman would pick, more for companionship than sport.

"'Course not. Phyllis Dare has a manly spirit," Jimmy gave Thomas a pointed look. "She's the only girl in my life. Aren't you, Phyllis?" Jimmy directed the question to the small dog who was giving Thomas the evil eye.

Thomas was unimpressed with Phyllis Dare's glare and raised an eyebrow at the man holding her.

"I didn't choose her name. She's a rescue," the blond blurted defensively.

"From a woman's lap?"

Jimmy sniffed disdainfully, "A puppy mill, actually. You're a tough old bugger, aren't you?"

Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin until he realized that the blond was addressing Phyllis and not himself. "I don't know what that means. Surely they aren't grinding dogs into a fine powder . . ."

Jimmy gave him a disgusted look. "No! Of course not! It's a place where they breed dogs for pet stores and stuff, but, like, they keep them in deplorable conditions and there's inbreeding—just, not a good place."

"I see," Thomas replied. For Jimmy's sake, he decided to attempt to get along better with Phyllis Dare than he had with Pharaoh. Somehow, Thomas doubted she would be so easily fooled.

He looked at the small dog's perfectly groomed fur and found it difficult to imagine her in a state of peril or neglect.

"Right, so, this is the place! It's just one bedroom so you can take the couch. It's comfy, I promise," Jimmy explained as he walked into the center of the room, next to the aforementioned "couch". Thomas shut the door behind him and followed his new _colocataire_ further into the room.

The couch did look comfortable enough, especially when compared to the ground. There was a slightly suspicious, yet dry, stain on one of the cushions that Thomas immediately caught sight of. A _protein stain_ from what he could tell. . .

Jimmy followed the other man's line of sight and blanched. "Ah, that old ice cream stain. Never did come out," he explained as he flipped over the cushion, which was covered in crumbs. Jimmy wiped off the newly exposed side with his hand as Thomas awkwardly looked on.

As a homosexual man who had looked after other men's clothes and belongings for a living, he knew the truth. "You certainly love your ice cream . . ."

"Everybody loves ice cream," Jimmy insisted weakly.

"Anyway," he shifted the conversation and his train of thought back to safer topics, "this will do. And I appreciate your generosity, truly." He really meant it, for once. "Not many have been kind to me in my life."

"Oh, um, don't mention it," Jimmy replied.

"If I could ask one thing more of you . . . Might I borrow a temporary change of clothes?"

"Oh! Right, yeah, just a second." Jimmy let the dog down and went into another room. Phyllis, hackles still raised, hesitantly sniffed around Thomas's feet. He was relieved Jimmy came back quickly lest he be left to fend for himself against this tiny, angry rat. "These should fit you. I'm pretty sure all my pants would be too small for you, though."

Thomas graciously accepted what amounted to pyjamas in his eyes, but he assumed they _must_ be normal dress here.

"You can go shower and change in there," Jimmy suggested, gesturing toward a door that was not the one he'd come out of, "I mean, if you _want_."

"Thank you." Thomas chose to ignore the implication of his having poor hygiene.

The blond appeared to be relieved. Thomas frowned.

"Let me show you how to work the shower."

 

~*~

 

Thomas felt like a child: practically having a bath run for him, wearing nothing but castoffs, someone washing his clothes for him. He considered, apart from the used clothing, that this was the life he helped uphold for Lord Grantham and company, both in the war and as a servant previously. He imagined him as a grey-haired five-year-old, being chased around by Bates. He smirked to himself.

He was very impressed with the convenience of Jimmy's "bathroom." Although it wasn't a large space by any means, it was still miles ahead of even the fanciest facilities he'd seen in his day. _As it ought to be, given this is supposed to be the future._

Jimmy had explained how the tap worked: the knob must be turned a certain way to the left as well as a certain amount outward to get an acceptable temperature, with no discernable rhyme or reason to it at all, and no labels to tell which way was which. On top of that, the difference between the slightest turn left or right was several degrees, making every attempt at turning on the shower a guessing game. Thomas expected both scalding and ice cold baths in his future.

He was tempted to throw off his uniform with reckless abandon. _Not like I'll need it anymore_ , he supposed. He sighed, and instead opted to fold each item of clothing as he removed it. He caught site of the hole in his left hand and wondered what he would do to hide it. All he had now was his uniform leather glove, his other belongings left back on the truck. _Far too hot here to wear that comfortably. Might as well just leave it be for now, since Jimmy’s already seen it._

Thomas manipulated the knob and cautiously tested the water. Jimmy had said it would take a minute to warm up, so he found a good enough setting and flipped up the metal plunger. The shower came gushing down in a brilliant display of modern technology. He stepped into the tub and slid the glass door closed behind him. The water from the upper bit was still cold, but he reveled in the pleasure of clean water and solitude regardless. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had the opportunity. As either the water warmed or he got used to it, he looked around for something to wash with. Everything looked foreign. He grabbed whatever was nearest him and read the front: "Pjur Original: BODYGLIDE," it said. Assuming this must be the "body wash" Jimmy had told him to use, Thomas hesitantly opened the lid on the tall, black bottle. He pumped out a handful of the gelatinous substance and massaged it into his chest hair. He rubbed the excess that slid down his abdomen into his pubic hair. Without warning, Jimmy flung open the bathroom door.

"I brought you a towel- ah!" Jimmy shuffled backwards, as if he were shocked to find a naked man in his shower.

Thomas's free hand flew to cover his modesty. Jimmy averted his eyes as he shoved the towel onto the rack built into the sliding door, perfectly covering Thomas's lower half, _thank God_. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed that he'd lost the opportunity to "accidentally" see anything of import.

"Sorry! I thought you would have waited for the water to warm up . . . " He noticed the black bottle in his guest's hand. "Thomas, what're you using?"

He recited the name, "Pah-joor." He wasn't sure he'd pronounced it correctly, nor was he quite recovered from his surprise visitor and less surprising erection. It was like his first weeks in the army all over again. Luckily, the towel on the door hid his shame.

Jimmy burst into a fit of vulgar laughter.

"Did I say something funny?" Thomas asked over the uproar as he semi-unabashedly resumed his attempted lathering, though he didn't think he was getting any cleaner.

Jimmy was hunched over with tears streaming down his face at this point. He nearly replied, but was lost to another fit of laughter.

Thomas watched Jimmy in confusion. Jimmy had told him to use the body wash, hadn't he? None of it could be that hilarious.

"You'd-" Jimmy broke off into laughter again. "You'd best give that to me, I fancy," he finally managed.

Thomas awkwardly slid open the glass door and handed the bottle to Jimmy.  "Have I done something wrong?" he asked.

Jimmy turned to leave, _Pjur_ in hand. "No, no. Carry on. Sorry to _disturb._ You might try using the _white_ bottle, by the way. Might work better," he chuckled as he exited the bathroom.

Thomas closed the glass door again--which was somewhat suspicious and probably indicative of some sort of exhibitionist streak--and looked for the aforementioned white bottle. He attempted to pick it up but it slipped right out of his hand and careened off the convenient little built-in shelf down to his feet, where it knocked rather roughly into his ankle. He could have sworn he heard another burst of muffled laughter from beyond the wall next to him. Despite his best efforts, a bottle of soap had managed to make a fool of him. He glared down at the offending object while he rinsed the other substance—whatever it was—from his hands.

~

Jimmy dried the bottle on his shirt before shoving it into his bedside table drawer, giggling once more at that idiot using lube as soap. _Guess it’s time to break that habit_. He thought this must be how his mother felt when he'd found her vibrator all those years ago and used it to give his army men an "enhancement." He winced at the thought, and quickly forced himself to think of other things.

Much to his dismay, the next thing that came to him was the thick, dark chest hair belonging to the aforementioned idiot currently in his shower. A picture of virulence. He barely managed to catch himself before descending into a place he didn't care to go. He turned toward the large poster of Vikki Blows hanging on his wall for guidance. Funny, he hardly ever looked at it after buying it on a bender months ago. Jimmy tried to focus on Vikki's feminine figure and icy, dominating stare, but all he could see was the glimpse of lubed-up pelvic muscles and real-life vintage erotica he'd just witnessed. _And I've convinced him I'm obsessed with ice cream now._ Jimmy pulled gently at the skin on his forehead, hoping all this stress wouldn't fuck up his complexion. _Why am I worrying about that? I'm not gay, or anything. Everybody looks at hot people; it's just human. Yeah, I'm just human._ He nodded to himself in confirmation.

He decided he might do some research into the validity of Thomas's story while he had the alone time, and meandered back into the living room.

~

The rest of Thomas's shower was largely uneventful. Apart from the unfamiliar, ultra-modern containers and such, it was the same as any other bath he'd taken. Well, the solo ones anyway.

He stepped out onto the mat and dried himself off, eyeing the awful, grey trousers and thin shirt he was supposed to wear. Reluctantly, he put them on. They were comfortable, and he hated them. Thomas hung his towel back on the bar Jimmy had left it on.

When he returned to the main room Jimmy was sitting at the bar looking over a peculiar, glowing object. "What's that?" Thomas asked, though he guessed it was something like the sentient music player from the car.

Jimmy turned as the _device_ stopped glowing. "What?"

"I asked what that was--the thing you were looking at," Thomas restated.

"Oh, it's an iPad. It, uh, has books on it and stuff, so you don't have to buy real ones. I mean, it does other things too, but you wouldn't understand."

"You might as well explain," Thomas replied casually, despite his curiosity as well as his automatic defensiveness toward the subconsciously perceived slight, "Besides, who knows how long I'll be here."

Jimmy sighed. "I haven't a clue how to explain the Internet to someone who doesn't even know what a computer is."

Thomas must have accidentally looked hurt, because Jimmy looked apologetic.

"Actually, why don't I just show you how to use it? Then you can look things up for yourself," he offered.

"Whatever you think is best," Thomas replied, though the idea of finally not having to ask about every little thing mildly thrilled him. He joined Jimmy at the counter while the blond fiddled around with the "eye pad."

"So it’s a bit like an encyclopedia then?" Thomas supposed the first thing he should look up would be "the Internet," if this were the case.

"I guess you could say that." Jimmy thrust the device—now dark—into Thomas's hands and pointed at the side. "Press this button here first."

The thing was cold, shiny metal and glass. He'd never seen anything like it. He did as he was told, and tried to keep his composure through his awe as the thing lit up to show a photograph of Phyllis Dare, in color and striking detail, along with the time and date and the instructions "slide to unlock" all lit up.

"Kind of, uh, push the screen to the right. You use your fingers."

Thomas just stared at him in confusion.

Jimmy seemed amused but slightly annoyed. He moved his chair so he was sitting next to Thomas rather than facing him. He slowly and deliberately placed his hand on Thomas's and dragged Thomas's middle finger across Phyllis Dare's nose.

Thomas barely moved his head in acknowledgement, deeply engrossed in the newness of it all and in the solid warmth of Jimmy's hand. The first picture of Phyllis was replaced by a different picture of Phyllis wearing dark spectacles, covered in what he could only guess were buttons, though they weren't _really_ there.

Jimmy let go, presumably because his palm was beginning to sweat. _Amateur._

"Uh, touch the one at the bottom right there," the blond instructed. He was getting uncomfortable with this arrangement, it appeared.

Thomas poked the "button," triggering another transition to mostly white, save for a grey bar at the top with a lighter bar inset. Jimmy tapped the lighter bit, bringing up a bunch of letters arranged like a typewriter.

"Then, you just put in whatever you want and hit 'go'.” He got up and returned his chair to its original position. "I've gotta take Phyllis out, so just do whatever. Just don’t go tellin’ people online that you’re a time traveler, okay?"

Before Thomas could respond properly, Jimmy and Phyllis Dare were out the door. Now alone with this Future Machine, he painstakingly typed a query into the little box: "What is the internet?"

It took him longer than he would be willing to admit to find the question mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit short. We wanted to get to the end of Thomas's first night, and we have a lot of it written, but it needs to be fleshed out more and we just wanted to get something posted (hence the "Part 1").


	3. (Part 2) Thomas Barrow Wears Thongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas watches Netflix and eats his first microwave meal, while Jimmy learns about Thomas's disappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here: the half-chapter you've all been waiting for! It's been gestating for 9 months and is now ready to be born unto the world.  
> No soundtrack again; it should return in the next chapter.

Jimmy walked with Phyllis along the small grassy area between the complex parking lot and the lot next door with a doggie bag prepared in one hand. Phyllis looked at him as if he were a complete fool, and seemed intent on not doing what they were there for. He trudged on. There was no way Jimmy would go back to his apartment without Phyllis having done her business. Truth be told, he was glad of the alone time.

Jimmy was still trying to process what he’d found in his clandestine research. He managed to find a single, obscure unsolved mysteries blog that posted about the story. It wasn’t surprising, given how little there seemed to be to go on—a single poor-quality digitization of a French wanted poster. However, Jimmy couldn’t deny the similarities. Thomas had said he was a corporal, hadn’t he?

What Jimmy found seemed like it was pulled out of a midnight double-feature. He attempted to recall the blog post:

> “Today I will regale you with the tale of the mysterious disappearance of four British soldiers in France during the First World War. The foursome—including a corporal, two privates, and a lieutenant, whose names have since been lost—were returning from the field after being discharged for wounds sustained. When the group stopped along the way, they walked into the nearby forest and were never seen again. They were originally wanted for desertion, but no one in the surrounding area reported seeing them nor anyone matching their description. There seems to be speculation that they may have slipped away to be with wartime sweethearts or to evade punishment for an unknown crime. Some say they were murderers. Some say star-crossed lovers. Some say they continue to haunt the woods, trying to find their way out. We will likely never know..."

Jimmy, spurred on by this mediocre revelation, had then gone down a rabbit hole of time travel theories until he was interrupted by Thomas exiting the bathroom.

 _There’s really no other evidence he could give me, so this is all I’ve got,_ Jimmy thought as he watched Phyllis sniff a tuft of grass. _A real, live time traveler, a scientific marvel, sleeping on_ my _couch…Wearing_ my _clothes._ He stopped himself there.

Jimmy needed to find a way to successfully integrate Thomas into the modern world with minimal psychological damage. Maybe he should tell him about the lube. _Nah, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him._ Thomas could use the internet for the little things now, and he had Jimmy for the big things. He made enough to live by himself fairly comfortably, but he couldn’t afford to buy a whole new wardrobe and all the other stuff Thomas would need. However, Thomas didn’t have the papers to get a job; he was essentially an illegal immigrant from the past. _Or perhaps an unofficial refugee?_

Jimmy was torn from his thoughts by the sound of Phyllis kicking up grass.

~*~

Thomas, transfixed by knowledge and his mostly self-taught ability to use “Google”, barely registered Jimmy and Phyllis’s return.

“How’s it going?” Jimmy asked after locking the dog in the bedroom to avoid further conflict.

“Well, you didn’t explain what to do _after_ I’d searched for something, but I’m managing alright.” Thomas set the device aside.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Jimmy responded, grinning sheepishly.

“How is the temperature so much lower in here?" Thomas asked, not willing to let an awkward pause form.

Jimmy seemed caught off-guard. "It's air conditioned. Don't they have that where you're from?"

"Not anywhere I've been, no."

"We'd die without it out here." Jimmy ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair as if to illustrate his point.

Thomas deliberated for a moment. "Why did you move to America, anyway?" he asked after a few moments.

"It- The weather's just too gloomy back home, y'know? Besides, I've been dreamin' of coming here since I were a lad," Jimmy answered.

The brief spiel sounded suspicious and rehearsed. Thomas let it drop.

He suddenly felt a yearning for something less inappropriate than the usual subject of his yearning as of late. “You said I was supposed to go somewhere to smoke?”

“Oh, uh, there’s bench down by the car park; we passed it on the way in. You can wear my other flip-flops out.” Jimmy gestured toward them.

Thomas mentally grimaced as he looked at the ‘flip-flops’ sitting by the door. He stood and pulled his nearly empty cigarette pack out of the horrible pocket in the cotton trousers. He started for the door, but Jimmy made it there first.

“Actually, would you mind if I kept you company?” he said.

“If you fancy it.” Thomas slid on the sad excuse for shoes and physically grimaced.

~

Jimmy mentally kicked himself for almost letting his time traveler go out alone. Despite the temptation he’d be faced with to smoke as well, he needed to know more. Was Thomas the missing Corporal? If so, he’d also need to offer up what he’d found on the mystery, and insist on Thomas sleeping on his couch indefinitely, he supposed.

He led Thomas out to the smoking area and wondered how the man could be so goddamn calm after everything. _It’s like he makes trips through space and time every day!_ Truly he was a person to be feared.

Jimmy sat on the bench and waited for Thomas to join him, but he lit his cigarette and stood by the ash tray post. “You don’t want to sit down?”

“I prefer to stand, thanks.”

Jimmy considered going to stand with him but decided to play it cool. They lapsed into silence for a few moments.

“Thomas?”

“Yes?” he answered.

“I looked into what you told me, while you were in the shower; about how you got here?”

“Ah. Do you believe me now? Because I won’t be showing off my hand to you again, not for free anyway,” Thomas smirked.

Jimmy weakly reciprocated. “That won’t be necessary, I have all the evidence I need. I just wanted to confirm some things, and I’ll tell you what I found out about the- uh- incident.”

“Go on, then.” Thomas turned a bit toward him, finally engaging in the conversation.

“What did you say your rank was?”

“I’m— I _was_ a Corporal.”

“And where were you when you got _lost_ , or whatever?”

“I’m not sure exactly; it was out in the middle of nowhere. We were coming out of Saint-Omer field hospital.”

“Near Lumbres?”

“I suppose. Why?”

“Well, I found a wanted poster that had been posted around there, since they thought you deserted. It’s turned into an unsolved mystery.”

Thomas frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s like, uh, a thing where somebody goes missing or there’s a murder and it’s suspicious, and people like to come up with theories on it. Like, one of yours is that you ran off with some girl you met there. Some people think you’re haunting the woods.”

~

He felt oddly blue at the thought of being a ghost in those God-awful woods for the rest of his afterlife, although the alternative theory was just as dreadful. _Ran off with some girl. Jesus. At least I was able to keep my secret through the years._

“Scandalous,” he smirked again and exhaled a stream of smoke.

Jimmy smiled, and Thomas wondered if he saw relief on his face. _Am I making him nervous?_

“Well, anyway, I suppose this changes things,” Jimmy said and turned more toward Thomas—who raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think you’ll ever be able to go back, and you don’t legally exist here. I’m not really sure what to do about that yet, but I was thinking we should start assimilating you.”

“What did you have in mind?” Thomas asked. _How grim._

“Probably your clothes, first off. You can’t go ‘round in your uniform and most my clothes would be too tight on you.”

 _I’m not_ that _much bigger than he is_ , Thomas thought defensively.

“Everything’s closed now, but we can go find you some essentials tomorrow. Until then we can look into the stuff you’ve missed, I suppose. Do you have any especially burning questions?”

Thomas had so many burning questions. He decided to go with the most practical. “What would be considered ‘essentials’ now?”

Jimmy appeared to think about it for a moment. “Pants, socks, a few shirts, and a couple pairs of trousers. You should be able to make do with the shoes you had on, but we can find another pair, too. I’ll pay for it; you can pay me back when we figure something out for work.”

Feeling a lump forming in his throat, Thomas sucked in what was left in his cigarette and put it out in the ash tray pole. He refused to cry over this. He knew it was just the stress of it all, but he was also truly struck by Jimmy’s kindness. He’d rarely been on the receiving end of the stuff, much less to kindness of this magnitude.

“I appreciate it,” Thomas coughed and managed to regain control of himself. “Could we also get a new pack of Woodbines? I only have one left.”

“I haven’t seen that brand anywhere ‘round here, but we can find something I’m sure,” Jimmy assured. “Are you ready to go back in, then?”

"I suppose."

~*~

Thomas wasn’t sure about his feelings on walking out and about where anyone could stare at his feet, but he knew he hated these _flip-flops_. His first two toes weren’t used to being separated, and the hard middle piece made his feet hurt. He also didn’t like the loud slapping sound they made against his heels. Thomas was more used to that sort of noise coming from behind or at groin-level. He was eager to get back into his old shoes and more structured garments, or at least out of _this_.

What he and Jimmy were wearing was far too close to his idea of pyjamas, which made the affair seem more illicit than it probably was. Thomas was glad when they were finally back inside, away from the possibility of prying eyes.

Phyllis, still locked up in the bedroom, alerted the whole building to their reentrance. Jimmy went to quiet her.

“You might as well let her loose. She'll have to get used to me,” Thomas sighed, praying for a lack of further disfigurement.

Jimmy turned to him. “You sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“I'll survive it."

Jimmy nodded and continued into the hallway.

Thomas slid out of the revealing shoes and left them where he found them. Jimmy did the same when he returned, Phyllis growling in his arms. He looked at Thomas apologetically.

“You wanna watch some telly? I know we sort of did the whole thing backwards, showing you the Internet first, but...” Jimmy laughed. He let Phyllis down and she sniffed warily at Thomas’s feet before running off to her plush bed in the corner of the room.

“…’But’ what?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s- uh- people now don’t finish sentences like that sometimes I guess. Sorry.”

Thomas tried not to roll his eyes. That was going to be annoying to get used to.  “How do we do that—watch ‘telly’?”

Jimmy looked at him and smiled. Thomas' heart melted.

“C’mon, I’ll show you,” he answered, motioning for Thomas to follow him to the couch, also known as Thomas’s bed.

Phyllis seemed to relax a little when everyone was seated, as did Thomas.

He watched as Jimmy picked up a long, skinny thing from the coffee table and pointed it at what Thomas could only describe as an all-black picture in a shiny black frame hanging on the wall in front of them. It made a clicking noise and lit up like the iPad did. Jimmy fiddled with it for a few seconds until it displayed the word “Netflix,” and then a bunch of boxes and things Thomas didn’t understand. He looked over at Jimmy, who appeared to be thinking of something to say.

“What did you have in your day? Radio shows, right?”

Thomas frowned. “We used the radio in the army but I’d only read about it before the war.”

“Oh. Books, then? And plays I suppose.”

“Yes. I remember when they first invented papyrus and the theater. There was quite a bit of uproar over that.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes while grinning cheekily. “ _Anyway_ , this is sort of like…a play but as a- uh- moving picture, or a moving painting?”

“We had cameras and films, too.”

“Well, TV—television— is like a bunch of _films_ back-to-back, with adverts sprinkled through and between ‘em. Only, people don’t watch that kind of TV much anymore. Instead, we watch the _films_ from TV, and regular movies, on the Internet most of the time. At least, I do. Here,” Jimmy offered Thomas the long-and-skinny, “You can pick. Push the buttons with the arrows to go up, down, left, and right. Then, push the button in the middle of those to go, like when you were Googling things earlier.”

“What’s this called?” Thomas asked as he took the thing.

“That’s a remote,” Jimmy answered.

~

Jimmy watched as Thomas figured out how to use the remote. He suppressed a giggle as Thomas struggled to press the buttons while looking at the screen. He was keen to see what his time traveler would pick out.

Thomas took his time, reading every single description for the shows in Jimmy’s queue until he finally settled on _The Twilight Zone_.

 _“There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man…”_ said the narrator.

Jimmy settled into the couch while Thomas sat ramrod straight on the edge. The natural light of the sun was beginning to fade, so the lights coming through the window and between the blinds were chiefly artificial. However, the room was mostly lit by the glow of the television.

Jimmy felt his belly grumble, as he realized he’d hardly eaten all day; he’d been so distracted by visiting friends in Palmdale earlier and then almost literally running into his time traveler that he forgot to sit down for a meal. Jimmy tried to remember what he had left in his fridge. Thomas was enraptured by the screen, so Jimmy carefully slid off the couch.

He made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. All he had was enough Kids’ Cuisine meals to survive a nuclear apocalypse. They weren’t exactly gourmet, but they had been on sale. _Carnivale Mini Corndogs. Spaghetti with Mini Meatballs._ “Fun” _Shaped Chicken Breast Nuggets_. With a sigh, Jimmy pulled out a nearly freezer-burned box of mini corndogs.

“Thomas,” he called across the bar, “You want something to nibble on? I’ve got spaghetti, chicken, or corndogs.”

Thomas turned around, the program forgotten. “What on earth are corndogs?”

“They’re hot dogs covered in batter.”

He looked uneasily toward Phyllis Dare, who was watching them sleepily, “They’re not made of…”

Jimmy followed his line of sight, “God, no! They’re just different types of meat mixed together into a sausage shape.”

“Sounds lovely,” Thomas replied, still looking a little uneasy. “Do you need any, uh, help in there?”

~

Thomas couldn’t remember ever cooking a proper meal for himself, other than a can of beans over a fire somewhere in France. He wasn’t sure what help he could offer, but it seemed like the thing to do.

“Nah, I’ve got it.” Jimmy turned his back as he worked.

Thomas continued to watch the program until Jimmy returned with crinkled chips, bits of cooked dough—presumably the corn dogs—and corn on two white, square dishes. He didn’t think it took long enough but he figured the advancements of the future included faster cooking. It smelled at least somewhat pleasant. Jimmy sat down and handed Thomas a fork. Thomas thanked him and stabbed the “corndog”, tentatively and placed it on his tongue. The bread shroud was sweet and pancake-like, although the “hot dog” was a bit lacking. Overall, it was satisfying. He turned to address Jimmy and found the other man watching him intently. He chalked it up to approval seeking.

“This is alright. Thank you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow incredulously, “Really?”

“I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in a long time,” he thought he saw a hint of a smirk on Jimmy’s face, “If I’m to be here for a while, I’d like to help with the cooking and upkeep of your flat. I don’t know much about cooking, but I can earn my keep.”

Thomas was truly touched that this man had cooked him a meal. He couldn’t imagine Philip slaving away in the kitchen for him; he couldn’t imagine any man slaving away in the kitchen for him. It was all very domestic and cozy. He’d only ever allowed himself to dream of having a nice fellow to come home to and a cozy flat to cling to each other in… Thomas quickly shook himself loose of the fantasy, but the warm feeling remained in the pit of his stomach.

“Sure, I’ll show you how to use the microwave and all the other stuff tomorrow after we get your essentials,” Jimmy smiled and turned his attention to his own plate.

~*~

Once they’d finished eating and had watched several episodes—the word Jimmy had used to describe them—Jimmy sighed and stopped the show.

“I’d better head off to bed—work tomorrow.” He stood up from the couch and stretched, causing his shirt to ride up and reveal a sliver of smooth, tan skin. Thomas didn’t look away, against his better judgment.

“You can keep watching if you like.”

Thomas jerked himself back to the land of the living.

“The show,” Jimmy answered Thomas’s dismayed look.

“Oh, right. No, I ought to turn in as well,” Thomas replied innocently. “You can go ahead and turn it off.”

Jimmy picked up the remote and shut everything down before scurrying around to gather a blanket and pillow for Thomas and put away their dishes.

~

Once his time traveler was settled in, Jimmy said a pleasant good night and stopped in at the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he leaned over the sink and closed his eyes. It was all getting to be a bit overwhelming—the time traveling, the grateful sentiments, the _feelings_ which Jimmy did not understand. Thomas was always looking at him with those forlorn, grey eyes and…

Jimmy’s eyes shot open. _It’s too late at night to be thinking about this_ , he decided. He went about his business, thinking of old science fiction instead.

~

Thomas pulled the blanket Jimmy had laid out for him up to his chin and stared up at the textured ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the relative darkness. The strange white slat curtains on the window past the foot of the couch blocked most of the light from the city but it was still much lighter than what he was used to. He felt tired but not ready to sleep.

He laid awake, looking around at all the foreign objects surrounding him in the dark. The thought that had been recurring in his mind came back to him: _I'll never have my life back the way it was_. He pushed it away once again. _Doesn't matter . . . there's no one waiting for me, nothing will change if I'm gone . . ._ He rolled onto his side, being careful not to fall off his makeshift bed. _The important thing now is rebuilding. Can't stay here forever . . . Even if Jimmy were to turn out my friend, I'd just be a burden. Best not to take advantage of his generosity, and a man's got to live his own life. If he were to find a girl he fancied . . . or a man—no, he's not_ that way _. He's different, but not_ my _different . . . Wouldn't hurt anyone to . . . think . . . would it? His clothes certainly smell nice . . ._ Thomas let his mind and his hands wander from there until he finally fell asleep, though he couldn't get a good night in despite his new-found peace of mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the rest of Chapter 2! Next time we take Thomas to ~the mall~  
> Stay tuned!


	4. Angry Bark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy takes Thomas to work with him, Thomas meets some interesting people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little over one year to the date. Here we are. It's an American Thanksgiving miracle. I decided to pony up and finish a chapter of this while I'm also writing two other fics because I'm on a roll. Shout out to those people on the last chapter who were happy to see an update; I'm doing this for y'all.  
> This one comes with a soundtrack, too. I'm not sure how well 8tracks is working nowadays but it's letting me listen to the last soundtrack okay. If problems occur, let me know and I can try to wrangle up an alternative.
> 
> https://8tracks.com/angryessays/time-traveling-loo-part-2
> 
> In-text directions for controlling the 8track are as follows:  
> ♫ = skip  
> ║ = pause  
> ► = play

The unfamiliar sounds and uneven couch cushions woke Thomas several times before he gave up and turned on the light. He picked up his simple pocket watch from the coffee table and checked the time: a little over 12:15. That wasn't right. He guessed it was more like 2 or 3 in the morning, based on the view from the glass door to the small balcony.

He decided to clean up his 'bedroom' a little. _Don't want to seem like I've made myself too comfortable._ He folded up the blanket and pillow he'd used and smoothed out the cushions as best he could.

Although walking around someone’s house in bare feet felt more than a little foreign to him, it did help with keeping the noise down. Wouldn’t want to wake his host, or Phyllis, who had followed Jimmy to bed. He tip-toed to the bathroom to retrieve his uniform and see if he could find a way to quietly wash it, only to find the garments hung up and looking brand new, waiting for him. _When did he have the time? Or the know-how . . . Especially considering the state of his undershirt._ Thomas figured he ought to leave them there and wait to change out of Jimmy's clothes until he was ready to go somewhere—he didn't want to deal with removing the dog hair he would surely accumulate on his uniform should he put it on now.

Upon returning to the living room, Thomas sat back down on the couch and picked up a book on the coffee table, underneath a tissue box he had already become acquainted with, labeled "The Art of Pin-up," which he hadn't bothered to notice before. He forced himself to trudge through it despite his inner-voice telling him over and over with each page that it _wasn't for him_. Thomas wished Jimmy owned a similar book that was more his speed, but of course he wouldn't. There was nothing better to do to pass the time, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore and he wasn't allowed to smoke inside—and he didn’t have the supply to last him.

Not being able to stand any more of it, he carefully returned the book to its original position. He looked around to see if there was anything else to read, and suddenly remembered the iPad.

~*~

No matter what position Jimmy arranged his limbs in, he couldn’t get comfortable. He used to lay on his stomach with half of his face on the pillow until he realized it was giving him fine lines under one eye. So, Jimmy forced himself to lay flat on his back, but instead of floating off to sleep he thought of all the things that had happened since he met Thomas. Much to his chagrin, the thoughts mostly revolved around the shower incident, and his mind kept replaying Thomas' voice thanking him for all he was doing to help him. He had to admit, it wasn’t very consistent with his usual character to be so generous, and there was of course the skeptical part of him that still wondered if he was being tricked, despite all he’d seen and read during the day. This could still be some elaborate plan to gain entry to his house to murder him in his sleep, or worse…

Jimmy ran his hand through his hair and sighed. _Shouldn’t have filled me head with conspiracy theories and science fiction before bed_ , he thought, ignoring the real focal point of his preoccupation.

He pulled his old headphones out of the bedside table drawer and his phone out from under his pillow and listened to some peaceful piano music until he was finally able to fall asleep.

It wasn’t long, however, that his alarm went off—AKA Phyllis Dare scratching at the door, wanting to go out. He noticed it was still dark out, groaned, and checked his phone for the time: 4:16am.

Jimmy reluctantly threw on some pyjama pants and stumbled into the living room, with Phyllis on his heels. Noticing Thomas on the couch, awake and fiddling with his iPad, he suddenly became hyper aware of the fact that he was still shirtless. _No more sleeping naked, either, I suppose._

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jimmy whispered.

~

Thomas had to restrain himself from jumping at the sudden sound of Jimmy’s voice, although it was mostly due to the sweet sleepiness it carried with it. He turned to find him, arms crossed over his bare chest, squinting at him. “I’m not used to the noise and light outside, is all,” Thomas replied, speaking in more of a low bedroom voice than a whisper. He managed to look Jimmy in the face this time.

“I have to take Phyllis out, but we can watch more telly after if you want; by the time we get back in I’ll be wide awake,” he offered.

Thomas nodded. He watched the pair shuffle out the door and shivered, though not from the breeze that blew in behind them.

He shifted his attention back to the iPad, where he was reading about adverts and modern marketing, until Jimmy and Phyllis Dare returned.

It didn’t take them long. Jimmy hurried back into the bedroom first thing, then to the bathroom, now with a short-sleeve shirt on. Thomas was partially disappointed and partially relieved.

“More _Twilight Zone_?” Jimmy asked once he finally sat down next to Thomas.

“If you want. I was quite enjoying the propriety of it,” he answered with a smirk.

Jimmy rolled his eyes and turned on the TV.

~*~

It was well into the morning when Jimmy opened his eyes, only to find they’d both fallen asleep shortly after starting the show. He snapped his head up, realizing it was resting on Thomas’s shoulder. He didn’t remember sitting so close together earlier. He checked the time; luckily, he still had enough to get ready for work. He stood, waking Thomas in the process.

“You’re not late are you?” he asked as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Not really, but we do need to get ready to go. I have to shower, so I’ll bring your clothes out, unless you want to wear something of mine again.” Jimmy didn’t dare bring up the position he’d woken up in. He walked toward the bathroom.

“No, I’d very much prefer real clothes. Thank you for the offer, and for washing my uniform, by the way. I found it in there this morning.” Thomas looked back at him with those _forlorn, grey eyes_. They were bluer now, reflecting the cool colors in the natural light filtering through the blinds.

Jimmy simply nodded and scurried away. As an afterthought, he called from the bathroom, “Do you mind if I play some music?”

~

“No, it _is_ your house,” Thomas answered, pleased that he would have something to drown out the deafening background noise coming from outside; it was like being back in the field all over again.

►  _Fill Me In, Pt. 2 – Craig David_

Jimmy returned, uniform in hand, and draped it over the back of the couch. “Go ahead and get changed. You can use my room if you want, so you’re not all out in the open.”

Thomas picked up his uniform and followed Jimmy down the hall. Phyllis growled a bit when they entered Jimmy’s bedroom, but calmed quickly. Jimmy pulled some clothes out of the dresser against the wall before slipping out with Phyllis and leaving the older man all alone.

The room wasn’t what he’d expected, though he wasn’t sure what else it would have been. He immediately pulled off the terrible trousers and shirt. Struck by the return of the thrill of being naked in another man’s room, a chill ran down his spine as his blood followed. He quickly put on is underwear.

Taking his time with the rest of his uniform, he examined all the odd things Jimmy kept. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was a rather large picture of a practically naked woman, her back turned, holding a riding crop under and across her bottom. Thomas frowned. _Is that really necessary?_

Turning away from the scandalous image, he noted the piano under the small window in front of the bed. It wasn’t a real piano, as it didn’t have the large box structure that houses the strings, but it did have the keys. Next to that was a desk with shelves above it, covered in small house plants, strange statuettes, and books about music. There was also a computer screen on the desk, which Thomas had learned about when looking up the Internet, though he wasn’t really certain on what they were for or how they worked.

On the adjacent wall was the dresser, with several trophies on top of it and more pictures and medals above it. While he buttoned his shirt, Thomas moved closer to read them. Some were for piano playing, others for athletics. His gaze fell on one particular trophy, or, rather, the picture behind it, of a young man with long hair and a scruffy beard, with a large ‘Z’ at the bottom right corner. Thomas wondered if it were one of Jimmy’s friends; if so, he’d love to meet him.

~

Jimmy cringed as he listened to the lyrics of the song he’d chosen. _Why is everything I listen to so romantic? Can’t change it now or he’ll notice._ Instead, he stepped into the shower and was once again flooded by memories of yesterday. The floor of the bathtub was somewhat slippery, and the muscle memory associated with both the shower and the substance coating the floor was nearly painful. He would be glad to have work to focus on. He applied his shampoo and other accoutrements as normal, gripping the little rail that was probably meant for hanging washcloths on or something, but that Jimmy used as a steadying device; he was the one who kept the lube in the shower in the first place, after all.

Once he was all rinsed and squeaky clean, he exited the shower and dried off. He began to set up his shaving supplies, and noticed his retainer case sitting on the edge of the sink. With all the commotion yesterday, he must have forgotten to wear it. He imagined his childhood orthodontist lecturing him on the importance of wearing his retainer.

He shaved his face as fast as possible—no cuts—and slipped into his uniform, plus a light jacket, the sleeves of which he pushed up past his elbows.

║

He turned the music off and went out to collect his time traveler, who he found standing in the living room with the iPad. “Anything interesting?” Jimmy asked.

Thomas locked the screen and set the device down. “Not particularly. Are we ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me get one more thing.” Jimmy ran back to his bedroom to retrieve a small satchel from his more theatrical past and handed it to Thomas. “You can take the iPad with you in this, just in case.”

“In case what?” Thomas took the bag and dropped the iPad into it before slinging it across his shoulder. Jimmy had to admit, he looked rather good all put together, and his hair looked much better now that he’d slept in it and such, though it did appear that he’d attempted to fix it some.

“If you get lost or something, you can use the iPad to contact me. Just go to messages and look for my name. I send links to myself all the time like that.” Jimmy didn’t add that he could also track the iPad’s location, in an effort to not freak Thomas out. _Wouldn’t want him to think I’m watching him, which of course I’m not._

Jimmy put on his trusty flip-flops and the pair headed out the door.

~

This time around, riding with Jimmy was much less arduous. After countless palm trees and nearly-naked people running around, they arrived at a large building that was like nothing Thomas had ever seen before. Jimmy parked the car in a “Parking Garage,” as the sign above the entrance read, and led Thomas through several nondescript doors until they reached an area that looked like something out of pictures of the World’s Fair. Music blasted from somewhere in the ceiling.

♫   _The Hills – The Weeknd_

There were countless little shops all next to each other on three floors, with a big space cut out in the center. One could look down from the edges and see the other floors, straight down to the orange-tiled bottom filled with tables and chairs. Thomas was amazed. _So_ this _is a mall?_ There was a huge crowd, with individual groups or pairs meandering in the circle created by the architecture of the place. Most of them wore, essentially, nothing. _Have they no sense of decency anymore?_

 “Alright, I have to go to work. There’s plenty of stores for you to check out; use my card. I take short shifts, so I’ll be done in about 4 hours. I’ll come find you after. The iPad should work so you can look things up, but if you can, go sit down somewhere where there isn’t a crowd; I don’t need somebody stealing my iPad. Good luck, Thomas!” Jimmy said as he turned and walked briskly into the throng of people.

Thomas suddenly felt very alone and exposed. Hand gripping the satchel tight, he merged into the rotating crowd. As he walked he wondered if he would even be able to find adequately modest clothing here, if he found clothing at all. Although, surely, a building this big with as many shops would have something that catered to his needs.

A rather well-dressed man in real trousers and a suit jacket passed in front of him. Thomas decided to follow his lead, but was brought to a strange obstacle: it looked like a flight of stairs, but it was _moving_. Thomas hung back and watched other people go down the moving stairs. Feeling he had a grasp of what to do, he attempted to board one of the steps. He managed to get on alright, but as he approached the bottom he realized he had no idea how to get off again without killing himself. Time was of the essence, however, so he leaped toward solid ground as soon as he felt he could make the jump. After a clandestine look around to see if anyone was staring at him, he decided he’d accomplished his mission and continued on his way.

He’d lost the well-dressed man at this point, so he had to go it alone. As he made the loop around this floor, however, he found a store that appeared to have the type of clothes he was searching for. The sign above the entrance read “Banana Republic.”

♫   _Bad Blood – Taylor Swift_

Thomas entered cautiously. The music was different in here, and it completely drowned out what he’d been hearing outside the store. _Strange. Is this part of the ambiance?_ There were a few other shoppers ambling around the store. He stuck to an area just off to the side of the entrance. As he was admiring a fine pair of pleated trousers, a woman approached him from behind. “Hi there! I like your costume!” she complimented.

Thomas turned to face her, gloved hand still holding one of the trouser legs—it was too hot for it, but there wasn’t an alternative unless he wanted to walk around with a gaping wound for everyone to see. “Hello…Um, what costume?” _She can’t possibly mean my uniform._

“Ah, I see you’re in-character, sorry,” she winked, “Is there anything I can help you with?” Thomas noticed she had the store’s name embroidered on her blouse along with the name Kelly.

He ignored the bit about being in-character—why did everyone here think he was playing some kind of part? “Yes, actually. I’m looking for some basic pieces. Sensible trousers, shirts, that sort of thing.” He pulled the pair he had been looking at off the rack. They seemed like they would fit him, but he wasn’t sure.

“Okay! Would you like me to open a dressing room for you?”

It was like she read his mind. “I suppose that would be a good idea,” he answered.

“Sure, follow me!” Kelly was far too happy about all this. She led him to a hallway at the back of the store lined with doors. She picked up some sort of writing utensil on a string attached to a plaque on one of the doors. “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Thomas Barrow.”

“Okay.” She wrote his given name on the plaque and pulled out a set of keys, which she used to unlock the door. “Just let me know if you need any different sizes or anything!” she said before disappearing back into the main store area.

Thomas entered the little room—it was so small he could touch both sides at once if he extended his arms. On one wall was a full-length mirror ringed with strips of light. Opposite that was a wooden bench with small coat hooks on the wall behind it. Thomas hung the trousers up there and went to work undressing his lower half. It was all very strange.

He managed to squeeze into the trousers, though they were a bit tight. They also had a strange metal contraption where the buttons should be. It looked like something off one of Lord Grantham’s bags or some such thing. He eventually figured out that it fastened the two sides of the trouser front together, thought he could not fasten it all the way. He removed the trousers and replaced them on their hanger. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. “Thomas?” Kelly called from the other side.

“Yes?”

“How did that pair work out?”

“They were, uh, just a hair small about the waist.”

“Do you want me to find the next size up for you?”

“Alright…”

“No problem, just pass that pair out to me.”

Thomas hesitated before opening the door as little as possible and sticking the trousers out.

Kelly took the pair and said, “Great, I’ll be right back.”

♫   _I Really Like You – Carly Rae Jepson_

Thomas closed the door again and wondered what he should do now, while he waited. He pulled out the iPad from the satchel, which he’d hung from one of the many hooks, and went to the app Jimmy said he could use to contact him. It looked relatively straightforward, as it seemed to have the same basic process as Googling did. He typed out a message, ::I am in a place called Banana Republic. A woman named Kelly is bringing me different sized trousers.:: Shortly after hitting the “send” button, Kelly returned. Just as before, she passed the trousers through to him and went on her way, still as chipper as she had been when she greeted Thomas.

This pair fit him perfectly, and the metal contraption fastened them pleasingly at the front. As he took them off, he noticed a tag attached to the belt loop of this pair that the other hadn’t had. On one side was the name of the store, and on the other were several lines of varying weights with numbers under them, and a price. Upon reading it, Thomas went white as a sheet. _$118! I could nearly buy a car for that!_ He knew pounds and dollars were different, but they weren’t that different. He returned to the iPad to consult Jimmy on his price range and what the hell these people were thinking selling a pair of trousers for 1/4 th the price of a car.

Jimmy replied shortly, ::That’s not bad. Ur probably looking at good quality trousers. Get 2 pairs::

::2? How are you able to afford that?::

::I manage. I have a 2nd job, u kno::

::What about everything else?::

::it’s fine, just get whatever you need as long as it’s not gucci or something. You can google what that means::

Thomas did, indeed, Google what that meant. Of course he wouldn’t buy luxury clothing at someone else’s expense, but were these not luxury items?

Right about then, Kelly returned. “Thomas? How is that size treating you?”

“Perfectly, thank you.”

“Would you like me to find you some other options in that size?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay! I’ll be right back!” She was gone maybe a minute, and returned with five pairs of trousers which she passed through to Thomas. “Do you want me to bring you some shirts to try, too?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Thomas answered. He was overwhelmed by all the different options there were. As he looked over the trousers, he found that some were, thankfully, slightly cheaper than the pair he’d tried on. He began trying on each pair, and was confused that they were all the right size in the waist, but quite small down the leg and at the ankle. In fact, they looked like the bottom half of his uniform’s trousers but all the way through the leg. He returned to the iPad to consult Jimmy.

::send a pic?:: he replied. Thomas was very confused.

::What?::

::sorry, google how to send a picture on an ipad and do that::

Thomas did as he was told. In the middle of reading about “digital” photography, Kelly returned with a selection of shirts.

“I wasn’t sure what size to get, but I thought you seemed like a guy who wears button-ups. I also threw in a flannel, since I thought it’d look good on you,” she giggled, as she passed him roughly seven shirts.

“Thank you.”

“Are the pants okay?”

“I’m sorry?” _The impertinence_.

“Oh, oops, sorry! Forgot you were British. The trousers?”

“…Yes, they’re fine, thank you.”

Once Kelly had finally left him alone, Thomas took a picture of the mirror in front of him to show Jimmy the trousers. He thought it was a rather ingenious method on his part, but Jimmy simply poked fun at him for doing it.

::since when did you learn how to take a mirror selfie lol::

::Is that bad?::

::no, just funny. The trousers look good and normal on you, idk what your problem is. Send a pic of the other ones you thought were too expensive::

Thomas, perplexed, followed his instructions. The more expensive pair were cut properly, with room down the leg and a handsome pleat. They were also a medium grey, which Thomas hoped would be better than his preferred black in the California heat. He sent Jimmy a picture.

::those look good too but I like the other ones on you better I think::

::Really?::

::would I lie to you? My coworker told me they were having a sale at banana republic so get the expensive ones and then 2 of anything under $100 since it’s BOGO free::

::Is there a sale on shirts? The woman gave me several to try on.::

::idk ask the woman. If you figure out what size pants you wear I can probably pick you up some at a discount when I get off work. Boxers or briefs?? :p::

::What?::

::oh, right. I’ll just pick something for you. Maybe look into it and let me kno::

Not wanting to stay in the dressing room any longer than necessary, he put the iPad back in the satchel, trusting Jimmy despite his better judgement.

♫   _Worth It – Fifth Harmony feat. Kid Ink_

Thomas remained in the grey trousers and began trying out the shirts he was given. These were sized correctly, though they were strange, both in pattern and form. The collars weren’t starched and they had buttons on them in strange places. None of them were white. They were also about half the price of the trousers. When Kelly returned halfway through, he decided to ask about them.

“Are there any sales on these shirts?”

“Yes, there is! All of our shirts are marked down from twenty to sixty percent off.”

“Alright, thank you, Kelly.”

“No problem, Thomas! Let me know if you need anything else!”

Once she was gone, Thomas began sending pictures of all the shirts to Jimmy, who wasn’t very helpful.

::idk Thomas just get whatever catches your eye. Everything they have there is gonna look fine in the modren era:: he said.

Thomas ended up choosing four shirts: all the grey ones, and one with blue and grey plaid just to mix it up a bit. He put his uniform back on and opened the door, chosen clothes in hand, just as Kelly was coming back to check on him.

“Did you find some things you like?”

“I did. Thank you for your help.”

“Wonderful! You can just leave whatever didn’t work for you in the dressing room. Hope to see you again soon!”

Thomas nodded in acknowledgement, hoping to never be forced to return to the Banana Republic, and made his way to the back of the short queue where he assumed he should pay.

A woman who looked nearly identical to Kelly, at least to Thomas’s eye, walked behind the counter and enthusiastically waved him over. He set his clothes down on the counter and she began running a futuristic-looking wand over their tags. “Did you have anyone helping you today?”

Thomas wondered why she would ask. “A woman named Kelly was helping me,” he answered.

“Great! Thank you.” She finished whatever she was doing to the tags and placed the neatly folded clothes in a large but surprisingly austere paper bag with the name of the store on the side and set it on the counter between them. Thomas retrieved Jimmy’s card, which Jimmy had pulled out of his phone in the car for him, and offered it to the woman. “Oh, okay,” she said as she took it and swiped it through the top of a computer keyboard in front of her, after which she returned the card to Thomas and pointed to a small device facing Thomas. “Sign here for me.”

Thomas picked up what appeared to be a pen attached to the thing and wrote his signature on the screen. He wondered why all their writing utensils were tied to something in this store, and the woman put some paper in the bag with his clothes.

“Have a nice day, hon,” she said.

Thomas nodded and left the store as quickly as possible.

~

♫   _Jealous – Nick Jonas_

Jimmy was anxiously waiting for his shift to be over. Usually he enjoyed this job, but today he was missing out on all the wacky adventures his time traveling flatmate was likely having without him. His manager had allowed him to keep his phone in his pocket as he’d told her he was having a sort of family emergency and needed to be available, so he could at least stay in contact with Thomas. He’d told a few of his coworkers that he was helping a friend pick out some more fashionable clothes, and some had even offered suggestions.

 _God, I hope he doesn’t find my store_ , Jimmy thought as he stood out in the open where any passing time traveler could easily see him. He was getting a lot of attention today, however, so that was nice.

Suddenly, while he was posing for a photo with a customer, he saw a familiar silhouette in the crowd. They made eye contact.

~

Thomas couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Jimmy was standing in front of one of the shops— “Abercrombie & Fitch”—with his arms around two young women’s shoulders, wearing nothing but those perverse flip-flops and trousers. He was shirtless, and his bare and hairless chest turned a shade of pink as his eyes met Thomas’s. He watched as Jimmy smiled and waved to the girls as they walked away. As soon as they were gone, Thomas rushed to investigate, trying to quiet his crinkly shopping bag as he went.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” he asked in a hushed tone.

“I’m at work,” Jimmy answered through a clenched-teeth smile.

“ _This_ is _work_?” Thomas was astounded. He supposed he’d never bothered to ask what _exactly_ Jimmy did for a living, but this came completely out of left field. “And what’s your other job? Prostitution?”

Jimmy glared at him briefly before returning to a nonchalant smirk. “I’m a _personal trainer_ , if you _must_ know,” he answered. “We can discuss this _later_ , I’m in the middle of my shift. Just, go find shoes or something.” Just then, another man wearing the same “uniform” as Jimmy came up to them out of nowhere.

“Is this your friend, Jimmy? You didn’t tell me he was so cute,” the man said. He also had a completely hairless chest, but Thomas noticed some trimmed hair around the front of his waistband. He was transfixed. The man gave him a handsome smile.

Jimmy cleared his throat. “Not now, Mason. He was just leaving, weren’t you Thomas?”

“That’s alright, Jimmy, I can stay a while, can’t I? I’m a customer, after all.” He gave Mason his best set of bedroom eyes, probably against his better judgement.

“Ooh, and you’re British, too! Do you know him from back home?”

“No,” Jimmy grumbled.

“What’s with the getup, though? You look like you’re about to chase Indiana Jones through the jungle,” Mason commented, dripping with judgement and directing the question at Thomas, who responded by losing all interest in the man.

He pulled out his pocket watched and arbitrarily checked the time. “Never mind, I should be going.” _These Americans have no respect for a man in uniform_ , he thought as he nodded his goodbye to both Jimmy and Mason. That was one good thing about life after Philip—he could be extremely fickle when he wanted to. He congratulated himself on leaving behind his old ways of falling for any attractive man who looked his way.

“Bye?” he heard Mason say as he walked away. He could have sworn Jimmy was audibly relieved by his departure. _Oh well, time for a smoke_. He made his way toward the moving stairs to get down to ground level.

Once he made it to the place with all the tables and chairs, he realized he was surrounded by restaurants. Was this some sort of indoor café? Thinking of food mostly reminded him how long he’d gone without a smoke. He was getting antsy now just thinking about it. Assuming he would need to go outside to smoke, he started looking around for an exit. With all the excitement of the day, he couldn’t remember if he had a cigarette left or not, but he was sure he could find someone who would lend him one.

The exits were easy enough to spot, as he noticed there were glowing red or white signs to show him the way all over the place. He followed the nearest one and found himself facing a wide bit of decorative pavement, a fountain, and yet another large building with the words “Expo Center” above a pair of tall glass doors. There was no one smoking here, unfortunately, but he saw a man standing around outside the Expo Center building, thankfully wearing some somewhat-sensible clothing. As he walked toward the man to ask for directions, the music coming from mall became increasingly faint.

║

When the man noticed him, he smiled at Thomas. “Welcome! It’s just through here,” he said, pointing toward the doors. Perplexed, Thomas thanked him and continued into the Expo Center, wondering if the man was reading his mind. He realized the truth of the situation, however, as soon as he set foot in the building; there were men and women in military dress absolutely everywhere. A large banner overhead read, “Welcome to War Reenactor’s Con 2015!” He had entered a long hallway, and all down either side were tables staffed by people in different style uniforms.

As he had to keep moving so as to not block the doors, he turned right and started walking past all the different booths. Although all of them were clearly military, he could only pick out a few that he recognized—there were even a couple men dressed similarly to his own uniform, clearly American rather than British, who seemed to nod in solidarity at him as he passed.

He eventually arrived at a table full of Frenchman. One of them, who’s bold blue uniform was strikingly accurate—more so than the others—caught his eye. He had dark, wavy hair under his cap, and a styled moustache. In short, he was quite handsome. “ _Bonjour_ ,” he said. Thomas wasn’t sure if he was addressing him at first, but then he joked, “You seem to have lost your cap, sir.”

Thomas approached the table. “ _Bonjour._ It was too hot for it,” he answered, which was true; that was why he left it in the truck yesterday.

The man, who was clearly an American in a Frenchman’s uniform, seemed to be momentarily shocked by what he said, but quickly recovered. “ _Vous êtes de l'infanterie anglaise, non?”_

“ _Médical. Parlez anglais, s'il vous plaît ; mon française ce n’est pas si bon_.” As those in the know joked during the war, the only things Thomas knew how to say in French were, “ _Je peux faire une bonne pipe_ ,” and, “ _Prends-moi par derrière, s’il vous plaît_.”

“That’s alright, it fits your background,” he teased. “Ah, I see your patch now, my bad. You look sharp in your uniform, by the by.”

Thomas nearly blushed. “Thank you, sir. I’d say the same for you, though I’m not partial to the color. I don’t know what possessed you French.”

The other man laughed. “I like the cut of your jib. My name’s Andy,” he said, sticking his hand out for Thomas to shake.

“Thomas. I must say, it’s quite nice to finally meet someone who appreciates a good uniform.” … _And a fine someone he is, at that._

_~_

It was finally time for Jimmy to clock out. He hadn’t heard from Thomas in a while, and was anxious to see him again. _Just have to make sure he’s alright, is all. Didn’t leave on such a great note._ He put his earphones in and set off in the direction Thomas had gone after they met outside the store, ab-adorned bag of dress socks and size large boxer-briefs in hand.

►

♫   _L8 CMMR – Lily Allen_

::I’m off work where r u?::

After walking for a while without hearing back, Jimmy pinged the iPad and found it to be next door. _What’s he gone to the convention centre for?_

The closer Jimmy got to the Expo Center, the more signs he saw for something called “WRC ’15,” and the more apprehensive he became. He soon noticed the glorified cosplayers in their Party City fancy dress, however, and realized what had happened. Now all he had to do was find his piece of hay in a needlestack. _Not like I can ask if anyone’s seen a bloke in an army uniform, neither._

Jimmy made his way to the far end of the long hallway of booths for each era, starting with the people who looked like they thought this was a Renaissance faire, and began his search. He thought he’d found Thomas several times, but it always turned out to be some guy in a similar color khaki who’d used too much hair gel, or, once, a rather convincing lesbian with a rainbow patch sewn to her jacket.

He completed the whole circuit without seeing a trace of his flatmate. He decided to ping the iPad again, though it hadn’t moved. He tried another text, ::I’m searching for u in the con centre, pls respond::

By some miracle or sheer luck, Jimmy happened to walk by the bathrooms. As he was looking around for Thomas, a flash of blue caught his eye exiting the men’s room; it turned out to be a hipster—curly moustache and all—in a bright blue, woolen uniform, followed closely by a certain authentic English soldier. Jimmy marched up to them, ready to fight the man who was surely trying to kidnap his time traveler for his own dark deeds.

Thomas seemed a bit out of it when he finally noticed Jimmy. _Dear God, what has he done to him?_ _I still don’t know how his constitution works with the modern world, that bastard!_ “Thomas!” Jimmy barked. “Where have you been?” The hipster straightened out his costume, as he looked like he’d been through a minor wind storm.

Thomas looked at him, brow furrowed in that way he does. “I’ve been here. What’s the matter?”

“Is this the person you were telling me of?” the hipster interjected, addressing Thomas. His accent was some strange, pretentious blend of a California accent and Received Pronunciation. He ran a hand through his wild, frizzy hair and pulled it back in a man bun before setting a matching blue hat over it. He even had that side-shaved haircut. _What a dick._ Jimmy glared directly at his pompous facial hair, as he was, admittedly, a bit taller than him. He twirled his moustache like the villain he was and smoothed out the hairs that had gotten out of place somehow. What he could see of his mouth was red around the edges, like he’d been biting his lip or something.

“I’m Jimmy Kent,” he answered before Thomas could respond. “Didn’t you get my texts?” he asked his flatmate, in a much less hostile voice.

Thomas looked between the two men in front of him a few times before responding, “I didn’t notice them, as I left my bags at the table. I suppose you’re done with work?”

 _Left them?!_ “Yeah, and we should get going. Let’s get your stuff.”

“What if he doesn’t want to go with you?” said Bitey-Lip, squaring his presumably sweaty shoulders.

Thomas huffed. “No, Jimmy’s right; we should go. Can you show us back to your booth?”

Bitey-Lip relaxed. “Of course.” He led Thomas and Jimmy, but mostly Thomas, through the crowd. As they went they struck up a conversation, leaving Jimmy stuck as the third wheel behind them. “Is he so?” Bitey-Lip asked. _What? Is he referring to me?_

Thomas shrugged.

 “Rough trade?” They both laughed at that. “ _Je ne sais pas pourquoi_ you’d bother with an omi _avec_ naff clobber.”

“I don’t cackle,” Thomas answered. At least, Jimmy thought it was an answer. He didn’t understand the question if there was one.

♫   _Stay With Me – Scott Bradlee & Postmodern Jukebox_

When they finally arrived at a table stocked full of blue-coated men, Thomas popped around and picked up a bag from Banana Republic with the strap to Jimmy’s satchel hanging out of it. Thomas, Bitey-Lip, and the other blue-coated men said their goodbyes—with the mustachioed hipster’s sentiments seeming overly affectionate for Jimmy’s taste. He thought he saw Thomas blush when he thanked Bitey-Lip “for everything.” Trying to ignore the fact that he’d thanked that hipster like he thanked Jimmy all the time, he led Thomas out of the Expo Center and towards the car park. _Guess I’m not so special, after all._ He would be glad to get him home.

When they reached the car, the pair hopped in and Jimmy exchanged the earphone jack in his phone for the AUX cord. As he tried to ignore the tone of the music—and the meaning, _and_ all that had just happened—he offered his shopping bag to Thomas. “I got this for you. I didn’t know what size to get, so I just got a size up from what I normally wear. I don’t wear this kind, though, so I might have to exchange them if they don’t work.” He pulled out of the parking lot while he awaited his flatmate’s approval on his choices.

Thomas furrowed his brow again and looked in the bag, after ogling the men printed on it first, of course. _You’d think he’s Amish the way he acts like he’s never seen a person’s body past their hands or neck before. Wonder what he’d do in present-day Paris with all them topless girls; they’re nipples are awfully free there._ Although Jimmy had never been to Paris, he’d heard the stories of the naked women in their tube adverts and such.

Finally, Thomas pulled up a pair of boxer-briefs and examined it. “I appreciate it, Jimmy, but why are these so short and small?” he asked.

Jimmy looked over at them. “They’re not, they’re just boxer-briefs.”

“They look like they’d barely cover anything, and be skin-tight on top of that!”

“Well, I know you’re used to more boxer-y pants, but you’d have an easier time with these, especially with those skinny jeans you bought.”

“The _what_?”

Jimmy huffed, “One of those trousers you sent me a picture of were skinny jeans—jeans that are skinny. You know, you really ought to get used to some of these things, Thomas. You can’t be getting all scandalized at everything you see that isn’t a man in a tuxedo. I know it’s a hundred years’ difference for you, but you live here now.”

Thomas remained silent. Jimmy could feel his eyes on him. He ran a hand through his hair, which was falling down by now, and hoped they weren’t forlorn.

“Sorry. I’m still worked up from not being able to find you earlier.” _And from that hipster getting his rocks off from your olde-tyme charm._ He heard rather than saw Thomas putting the undies in his Banana Republic bag, as he couldn’t look over due to the traffic mess he was navigating.

“No, you’re right,” Thomas sighed. “Truth be told, I feel like the old, irascible butler I used to work under. I’ll get used to it all soon, I hope.”

If this were a cartoon, a record scratch would have played, and Jimmy could practically hear it in his head. “Wait, you worked for a _butler_?” They looked up at each other. _Why’s he looking embarrassed all of a sudden?_

“Had I not mentioned it? I was a servant before the war. It was supposed to be my ticket out, but, that doesn’t really matter now,” Thomas explained.

“You worked in some castle, then? In Yorkshire?”

“It was a big house, not a castle, but yes. I were trying to get my foot in the door to be his lordship’s valet—the Earl of Grantham’s valet, that is—but it didn’t work out the way I’d planned, so I left my position as first footman as soon as it looked like the war was on. Joined up with the local doctor and made my go of it. You know how well that turned out, of course.” He lifted his left hand slightly to make his point.

He didn’t know where it came from, but Jimmy suddenly felt bad for Thomas. _He’s seen some shit, I bet._ “Right. Well, anyway, after we stop in at home, I can take you ‘round to some other shops if you want. Help you pick out some things you might be more comfortable in. I should have done that from the start, to be honest.”

Thomas nodded in agreement. “I also still need cigarettes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe after I get some of my other stuff done, I can cut our insane release schedule down from annually (pray for me). I do hope to finish this thing one day, and rest assured I haven't forgotten it. Thanks for vibing and keeping it tight. Cheers, until next time :)
> 
> Edited to add because I forgot:  
> Here's a translation of all the non-English bits, in order of appearance.  
> {French}  
> "You're English Infantry, right?"  
> "[Medic]. Speak English, please; [my] French isn't very good."  
> "I give good head."  
> "Take me from behind, please."
> 
> {Polari and French}  
> "Is he gay?"  
> "Rough sex [, huh]?" "I don't know why you'd bother with a man with horrible [taste in] clothes."  
> "I don't gossip."


End file.
